


Goodnight, Sweetheart

by WritingToKeepMySanity



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: (kinda), Daddies Sprace, Fluff, Foster Kid Brooklyn, Higgins-Conlon family fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I love two (2) idiots and their daughter, M/M, rated teen for Spot's big mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 16:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14288436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingToKeepMySanity/pseuds/WritingToKeepMySanity
Summary: Goodnight sweetheart, well, it's time to go...***Brooklyn has a bad dream, and Race is there to comfort her.





	Goodnight, Sweetheart

Race yawned, rubbing his eyes under his glasses as he flipped aimlessly through the channels. It was nearing eleven at night, and he was up waiting for Spot.

Leaning his elbow against the arm of the couch, he set down the remote, finding nothing good on, besides a rerun of _Shark Tank_ , and stretched his legs out, making a face when something in his hip popped loudly.

“Tony?” a quiet voice asked from the hallway.

“Brooklyn?” Lifting his head off his arm, Race turned to look at her. “What’s’a matter, hon?”

Brooklyn furrowed her brow, blinking in the low light and rubbing her eyes with her fists. “Bad dream,” she said simply.

“Like… a nightmare?”

She shook her head. “Jus’... bad.” She didn't elaborate further, and Race mentally scrambled for words.

“Wanna come sit with me a bit? ‘M just waitin’ for Sp—Sean ta get home.” They were trying to be better ‘bout usin’ real names around Brooklyn, even though she’d heard them called Race and Spot plenty’a times.

She nodded and Race sat up to make room for her next to him on the couch. Instead of sitting next to him, however, Brooklyn surprised him by crawling in his lap and wrapping her skinny arms around his neck, burying her head in his shoulder.

He frowned, feeling her shake under his arms. “Ya—ya wanna tell me ‘bout ya dream?” They’d had Brooklyn going on seven months now, an’ the paperwork should be going through any day now for them to adopt her, but she’d stayed pretty quiet most of the time, coming out of her shell only when Lucy made her come out. This was the first time she’d even come to one of them about a nightmare-slash-bad dream.

Brooklyn shook her head, clinging tighter. Turning off the TV, Race smoothed a hand down her back, mind turning over his options.

He’d taken care of Jack and Kath’s kids before, but it’d been a while since he dealt with nightmares—other than his and Spot’s—what worked with them?

He picked the first one that formed coherently in his mind and stood, holding her close to his chest as her legs tightened around his waist. Opening his mouth, Race began singing the first song he thought of, one from some old movie.

“ _Goodnight sweetheart, well, it’s time to go…_ ” He felt Brooklyn smile as the “ba-do, ba-do” reverberated from his chest to hers and relaxed minutely. She hadn't been too awake to begin with and he could feel her starting to fall asleep again.

Pacing the floor behind the couch, Race kept singing, half watching out for shoes and rug edges, half trying to remember what movie the song was from.

“ _Well, it’s three o’clock in the mornin’… An’ baby I just can’t do right…_ ”

It had that one actor his ma used ta drool over. The one with a mustache.

Brooklyn relaxed further into him and her arms slackened around his neck. In response, he tightened his arms, turning on his heel to continue pacing. 

“ _...because I love you so._ ” She stirred a bit at that, and Race rubbed a soft circle in her back.

“You sent me back. In my dream,” Brooklyn said drowsily, before settling her face in the crook of his neck. He wasn’t sure she knew what she was saying, because a moment later, he felt her eyelashes flutter against his skin and her breathing even out.

Race sighed softly before moving on to the next line, pressing a kiss to the top of her head first. “ _Goodnight sweetheart, well, it’s time to go…_ ”

The door to the apartment opened then, and he turned quickly, bringing a finger to his lips as his husband walked in the door.

Spot stopped abruptly, taking in the sight a moment before softening and setting down his briefcase next to the door quietly. Stepping carefully, he made his way towards them.

As if she could sense it, Brooklyn stirred once more, looking around. “Sean,” she said sleepily, sliding her arms from Race’s neck and tilting towards her other foster father.

Catching her easily, Spot shifted her onto his hip. “Hey, sweetheart. Ya doin’ okay?” he asked, his voice pitched low, looking between Brooklyn and Race, the latter nodding and mouthing _bad dream_ while the former just curled into him.

“Mmhmm. Tony was jus’ singin’ t’me,” she slurred, almost immediately falling asleep once more.

“Yeah? Tony’s pretty good at that, isn’t he?” Brooklyn hummed a half-answer. “What say we get’cha ta bed, huh, Miss Brooklyn?”

Race followed Spot down the hallway to Brooklyn’s room, pulling back the covers and detaching Brooklyn from Spot's hip. Together they tucked her into bed, making sure her nightlight was on and her bunny within reach before stepping out into the hallway.

“Singin’, huh?” Spot teased. “Haven’t sung ta me in _years_ , I’m hurt, Racer.”

Race rolled his eyes, smirking. “It was the first thing I thought of—she hasn’t ever come ta me wit’ a bad dream, didn’t know what else ta do.”

“She tell ya what it was about?”

Race nodded. He almost didn’t want to tell Spot, knowin’ how deeply it hit whenever Brooklyn mentioned her past foster homes, or the time she marveled to Lucy that she’d never been in one place for so long.

“She dreamt… she said we sent her back. Ta the group home.”

Spot’s jaw clenched and he looked down at the floorboards. “ _Dammit_ ,” he whispered. “Dammit, that paperwork was s’posed to go through _ages_ ago, Tony. What’re they waitin’ for? A presidential approval? For the-the fuckin’ stars to align? What is it? Why are they makin’ that girl in there feel so helpless because they won’t _fuckin’_ process our paperwork? Why—?”

“Hey, hey,” Race dragged Spot away from the door, into his arms. Spot didn’t always take comfort willingly, especially when he was this mad, but he went easily, locking his arms around Race’s waist, burying his head in his shoulder.

“We waited two years ta get her, Tony. And for what? Ta get screwed over—?”

“Don’t talk like that,” Race commanded softly, resting his head against Spot’s. “We’ll get her, Sean. Don’t know why it’s takin’ so long, but we can’t be worryin’ ‘bout that. We’ve got that little girl in there who just needs us ta love her an’ show her we’re not lettin’ her go, s’long as we have any say in it. An’ that’s the easy part, right?”

Spot let out a shuddering breath, nodding against Race and pressing a kiss to his shoulder, a silent thank you.

Race held his husband a moment longer before swaying a bit, humming softly.

_Goodnight sweetheart, goodnight…_

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I love these idiots and their daughter so much.
> 
> I haven't had time to work on my long fics lately, with end of the semester crap I was careless enough to leave until the last four weeks (lesson time, kiddies: Don't leave crap until the last month of the semester. You will get stressed out and cry. I tell you because I love you), so I've written some little things, including... this. Because I love Spot and Race with Brooklyn so much. Please come talk to me about them because I have SO MANY FEELINGS.
> 
> 10 points to you if you guess the movie I referenced, another 10 points if you can name the actor ;)
> 
> Comments, concerns, and critiques welcome. Peace, love, and sanity!


End file.
